Three of Two
by LogicBomb.32
Summary: Two times I didn't fight and one time I did, because for her I will always fight. But I had to pick my battles and that third time, I knew. I knew it was the one.


**Title: Three of Two **

**Author: Logicbomb.32**

**Ship: Pre-established Santana-Brittany **

**Summary: Three times I didn't fight and one time I did, because this time I know. The way I crave her touch on my back, her breath on my skin, her voice in my head…that's how I know**.

**Authors Note: I have never barely written Glee before and I can honestly say that I never imagined that I would. However times are changing and I seem to have caught the Santana-Brittany bug and for now this is my latest project. It is your typical "three times she did and one time she didn't" except reversed. So it's two times she didn't and one time she did. My knowledge of Glee is **_**very, very **_**limited so please let me know how I'm doing. Enjoy.**

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><p>The way I can feel her eyes linger on me just a little bit longer than everybody else…that's how I know.<p>

The way I crave her touch on my back, her breath on my skin, her voice in my head…that's how I know.

The way I feel her pain, invisible as it is, when people call her dumb…that's how I know.

The way I want to punch peoples lights out when I hear their whispers about _us _and who we are….that's how I know.

But most of all, and perhaps most importantly, I know that I, Santana Lopez, am in love with Brittany Pierce is because of what I'm about to do. I'm sitting in my car, the tears only just finished dripping down my face and strangely enough I'm reflecting on a lot of shit.

I'm a fighter, or a hot-blooded Latina if you prefer to think about it that way. But either way I find myself acting first and thinking later nine times out of ten and over the years it's gotten me into a lot of trouble. I've got a reputation, not one that I necessarily approve of but I'd rather have the one I've got the nothing at all.

Why?

Because at least this way, with the reputation that precedes me, people tend to _stay the fuck away_ from me. And that way-god I'm actually going down this stupid fucking road- that way if no one gets close enough then no one can see the cracks, my cracks. Carefully constructed and even more carefully hidden I've managed to create the perfect façade of myself

Until Brittany…

She either didn't care or didn't see all the walls I built around myself and because of that, I owe her so much.

But I'm not being sappy.

I'm not going down that road because if I start remembering all the things she done for me there's not a chance in hell I'm going to get out the of the car. But I need to. I need to get out of the car and fight for what I believe in, fight for what I love, fight for Brittany.

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><p><strong>I. <strong>

_Can you stay? (Brit)_

The text message came to Santana in the middle of Pre-Calc, a welcome distraction to the brunette who had stopped taking notes ten minutes into the period. And that was thirty minutes ago…the last ten minutes were all but dragging by and the subtle vibration of her phone against her back pocket was exactly what she needed.

However as soon as she swiped her phone open and saw the text she frowned, and set her phone back down. Suddenly pre-calc was very appealing. Not that she liked ignoring Brittany but that question, that one particular question was so….complicated.

_Maybe :/ _

It wasn't an answer, not a real one, but until this damn period was over it was all that she could give.

_Talk later? (Brit) _

_Four min. _

And four minutes later she was streaming out into the hallway, following the masses blindly as she scanned the crowds for the familiar blond head "Hey you." A quiet voice said and a familiar touch wrapped around her thin wrist.

The Latina jumped out of impulse but relaxed as she realized who it was "Hey" she said, gently removing her wrist from Brittany's grasp "How was class?"

It was a filler question, and to anyone else it might have slipped past and lead to your average conversation, but Brittany saw through the smoke her best friend and sorta-kinda-something more was putting up "Talk to me." She said as they walked away from the hustle and bustle of the main hallways.

Moving into an empty classroom Santana and Brittany found themselves surrounded by silence "I'm going to have to tell them." Santana said quietly, unusual for her and the blond moved closer so that they were barely inches apart.

"Yeah." Brittany said, wrapping her arms around Santana's waist so that their bodies were flush. This was unusually intimate for the two, especially for being at school, but as long as Santana as fine with it "What's going on?" she asked, her chin resting on Santana's shoulder

Santana sighed, a long, deep, complicated sigh that held so much emotion behind it "I can't keep doing this." She said, her head dropping down "All these secrets and lies, I need to tell me parents about what-who I am. But after my abuela…" she trailed off, that particular memory not one she wished to dive into.

"Hey, hey, San, look at me." Brittany said, stepping back slightly as her sorta girlfriend complied "You do need to tell your parents but not if you're not ready."

"But it doesn't matter if I'm ready or not, they're going to find out sooner or later and-and-" Santana was getting worked up, her fears and insecurities were rising quickly to the surface faster than she could stop them-so she shut down.

Brittany saw the walls go up in the blink of an eye and she suppressed her sigh, she had hoped that at one point Santana wouldn't do that with her but some things rarely changed "We should get to class." Santana said, extracting herself from her sorta-kinda girlfriend

"Yeah" Brittany said watching as Santana physically put space between them "we should." And their moment was gone as they stepped back out into the main hallway, still as full as it had been "Text me." Brittany added, watching as Santana turned to walk to her Spanish for native speakers class.

The blond had barely gotten two thirds down the hall when she heard an explosion of commotion behind her, commotion that was familiar and unexpected. Santana.

And so instinctually she turned around, her ears already picking up the sound of the argument "Don't you fucking talk about her like that."

Brittany was pretty sure she knew who _her _was, but for the moment that wasn't problem…the problem was Santana, itching for a fight, and the football player playing the perfect target

"Oh don't even pretend." He retorted "We all know your best friend's retarded and-"

And just as Santana was about to do something stupid and once again start a fight in the hallway, Brittany reached her, grabbing her wrist and all but yanking her back "Don't." she said, meeting the football jocks gaze coldly "He's not worth it."

Santana glanced over at Brittany and stepped back slowly "There you go!" the football player called out "Listen you your girlfriend."

Brittany almost froze, almost felt the need to wrap herself around Santana and physically restrain her but instead she watched as Santana straightened her shoulders, wrapped her hand around her wrist and turned back to the football player "Just because you can't get anything Derek…don't hate the players hate the game."

And then they walked away.

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><p><strong>II. <strong>

Santana tapped her foot impatiently, glancing over at the clock on the wall and failing to suppress a sigh. It was now three minutes after the period and Twenty Questions in front of her wouldn't shut up, all she needed was the reschedule her exam for next week instead of this Friday. But now, Questions in front of her was taking his damn time and at this rate she wouldn't be able to say hi to Britt before heading to AP US History "Do you mind?" She finally snapped "The rest of us would like to talk to the teacher at some point this millennia."

The boy turned around, his mouth open ready to argue until he realized who it was and he just nodded and murmured an apology. Santana made to step forward and talk to the teacher when Kyle Logan, douchebag to the extreme, stepped in front of her and smiled sweetly to the teacher. It was all Santana could do to not kick the guy in the nuts and drag him into the hallway. Instead of the preferred option, she sat down on the desk top nearest the front of the class, tapping a finger.

She was going to be late, there was no doubt about that, but worse she wasn't going to be able to see Britt. Pulling out her phone, she slid it open, ready to type out an apology to the blond, when she heard a familiar squeal and an outburst of manly sounding laughter.

Standing up quickly, the Latina found herself moving into the hallway towards what she had identified instantly as Brittany's squeal. It wasn't surprising that the noise had triggered some sort of protective instinct in her, Brittany was her girl and anyone that tried to pull shit on her blond would go down. Fast.

She stepped into the hallway just in time to see a mixed crowd of jocks and _others _laughing and looking horrified at Brittany. Slushie was dripping everywhere and from this angle Santana was sure that it had been not just one slushie but two or maybe even three. She had been slushied her fair share of times and normally you just shrugged it off and pulled out your spare outfit from your locker. But this time, this was different and it took a moment for the Latina to figure out why Brittany was looking so heart broken.

Santana was already pushing her way through the small crowd before she realized why tears were rising in the blonds eyes. The shirt. Today was a Cheerio free day and in the spirit Brittany had decided to wear her favorite shirt. The shirt that her grandfather had given her last Christmas before he died the following spring. For so long Brittany had kept the shirt safe and sound in her wardrobe, not wanting to ruin it or damage it somehow. Today had been the first day that she had worn it somewhere other than his grave.

And this had happened.

She was dripping with a combination of red and blue slushie that formed some sort of weird purple syrup that was soaking into her shirt, and weaving sticky trails down her face, neck and back. The Latina grabbed her sorta girlfriends hand and gave it a comforting squeeze before turning on the jocks "You think this is funny fucktards?" she demanded

"Well, yeah." One of them said, shrugging and laughing.

Her eyes narrowed "You know what I think is funny? Me shoving your nuts down your throat."

His laughter froze as he read the seriousness of her tone and the expression on her face "It was just a slushie." He said hastily "We can do it to you to if you want to match."

"And I'll flip you so fast your small, useless mind, won't know left from right." She snapped, feeling Brittany's shaking hand and curl around her wrist.

Instead of this movement calming her down, like it normally did, it only made her more angry and fueled her fire "You know what Santana, you're a lot of talk." Another jock said, stepping forward.

It was a challenge, and the Latina knew it, accepted it and took a step forward "You interested in seeing how I can back it up?" she asked, sneering.

There was a pause where the crowd held its collective breath, waiting for the next move to be taken. In the silence, Santana felt a hand curl around her waist and the forced calm breaths of her best friend and sorta something more behind her "Don't." the blond whispered, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.

Santana was torn, backing down made her look like a coward, but the gently pleading in Brittany's voice tore at her heart. She was debating her options, about to make her move, when another voice piped up "You really want to take on a girl?"

Puck.

"She'd kick your ass three ways from Sunday." Puck said, coming to Santana's side.

How that idiot had caught wind of the tension the Latina didn't have a clue but his presence was oddly welcoming. In any other situation she would be angry at him for trying to handle her business, but not today. Today his appearance instilled some amount of fear into the jocks and the shook their heads, shrugging and backing down.

Brittany pulled the Latina away before Santana could thank Puck, not that she needed to really; he was her Lesbro and always had her back.

Always.

And so that's why, instead of going back to thank him, Santana found them a quiet corner of the building and pulled her sticky girlfriend into her arms. She felt the tears, felt the shaking shoulders and felt her anger return. But she pushed it away murmuring words to her girl and promising to find another shirt.

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><p><strong>III. <strong>

It's my fault that I'm here in the first place, my mouth got the better of me and the whiplash of my own stupidity had torn my life apart. She was on my side, Brittany was always on my side, even when I was wrong. And I knew that she wanted to be here with me, holding my hand and giving me strength, but this, this I had to do alone.

I was sitting in her car, hands clenching the steering wheel and trying to steel myself to actually get out of the car. My phone vibrated and I jumped, not expecting the noise in the silence, but my fingers fumbled for the device and I slid it open, reading her text

_I wish I was there. I love you. Always. _

I smiled and slipped my phone into the pocket of my jeans as I stepped out of her car and locked it, braving myself to walk back into my own house, uninvited. I walked up the concrete path, remembering the summers spent creating worlds of chalk on those squares. I paused on the porch, remembering the times my abuela and I had drank lemonade and talked about everything until the sun came up. I put my hand on the door handle, remembering how my father had slammed it in my face last week.

I pushed it open "Hello." I called out, heart basically beating out of my chest and every part of my brain screaming at me to leave.

There was a cold silence, but I could hear movement in the kitchen so I walked that way. The pictures of me on the wall were gone, replaced by cheap paintings, the usual music wasn't playing, only the silence echoing around my house. I stopped in the doorway to the kitchen and saw my mother at the stove and me father sitting at the table. They were both staring at me.

"What are you doing here?" my father asked, his voice cold and emotionless.

For a moment I'm not sure I would be able to actually speak, but the vibration of my phone pushes me into words "I want to talk."

"We have nothing to talk about." He says, but my mother thinks otherwise.

"What about?" she says, one hand stirring something in a pot.

"Why you kicked me out last week." I said, my voice steadier than I imagined it being.

"I told you" my father started "I will not accept _that _in my house, under my roof."

"So that's it?" I say, fighting to remain under control "I'm still the same person that I was before you knew I was gay, but the fact that I like girls makes me a disgrace to the family?"

Both of my parents look surprised at my outburst, but my father handles it in stride, as always, and replies angrily "Yes." He said "What you _are _is a disgrace not just to this family but to our society. You cast a shadow over the family name." he pauses for a moment and I'm sure he's done, but no, he's not "And that-that friend of yours, Brittany-"

I stiffen and immediately cut him off "Don't go there." I say "You can say whatever you want about me and what I'm doing to the family but don't you dare speak about her."

I hoped that that would stop my father, but no, he continues "She's not exactly smart, I know how much of her homework you help her with and the tests you help her study for. She's not going anywhere in the world."

I snap, just like when I was facing Derek and the jocks that slushied us, but this time there is no Brittany to stop me. And for that I'm thankful "So what she's not going to go to Yale and John Hopkins Medical school, that doesn't mean she's dumb Papi" I say, barely pausing for a breath "Actually Brittany has a three point five GPA and is on Academic Decathlon. She's applying to Stanford in the fall and there's a chance she'll actually get in. Just because she doesn't want to be a doctor and doesn't test as well as you did doesn't' make her stupid. And that doesn't mean I can't love her, because I do. I. Love. Brittany."

I realized I had crossed some sort of line when my father is up and in front of me before I can move. I see his hand come flying towards my face and in a matter of seconds I duck. My father has a temper and there have only been two instances where I've seen him borderline abusive, but this, this was way beyond that.

My mother is shrieking in panicked Spanish for him to stop as his hand grabs my ponytail and he is dragging me towards the door. His grip is tight and it's not until he's let go and I go stumbling down the stairs and slamming the door in my face that I realize I'm crying.

My hair is falling out of its once neat ponytail, the palm of my hands stings where bits of concrete and glass cut into it as I caught myself and if the burning is and indication my left leg is all fucked up.

Somehow, impossibly, I make it to your car, pulling myself into the drivers seat and just sitting there. I don't know what to do, getting thrown out one time is hard enough but being physically ejected from my house, that's ten times worse.

But it was for Brittany and out of the three times I've wanted to fight for her, I wouldn't change a thing. Sometimes you win fights, sometimes you don't fight and sometimes you lose, hard. I lost, but I didn't lose her. And that's what I need to hang on to.

Always.


End file.
